


The Bells at Starecross Hall

by wideeyedandrestless



Category: DICKENS Charles - Works, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 18:18:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8411629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wideeyedandrestless/pseuds/wideeyedandrestless
Summary: John Segundus is the keeper of a Starecross Hall, a madhouse in remote Yorkshire.  When Mr. Honeyfoot, a stranger traveling on business, meets Mr. Segundus on the road he is surprised to find his friendly greeting returned nervously and with great reluctance.  Noting the tiredness of the traveler and wishing to compensate for his odd behavior, an uneasy Mr. Segundus invites the traveler in for refreshment and the truth of the uncomfortable reception is revealed.JSMN AU - Segundus and Honeyfoot have not met.  Crossover with Dickens' The Signal-Man.





	1. Chapter 1

The village Starecross was not known for attracting many visitors. Picturesque views and solitude it had in plenty but this was rarely enough inducement for most travelers. Therefore the appearance of a stranger on the road leading to the village on a late autumn day in 18__ was something rather extraordinary. The man was of middling age and while the leather haversack slung over his shoulder suggested he was on some errand, his pace indicated it was not urgent. The road has been a lonely one and, though the man often raised a handkerchief to wick the sweat from his brow, he did not stop to rest. As he walked his eyes vigilantly took in his surroundings as if searching for something and, indeed, when they alighted upon a stately home and the outline of a man in the distance his face visibly brightened. 

As if to prove to himself that the image was not a mirage, he raised an arm to shield his eyes from the bright glare of the sun and called out, “Hallo there!”

Though there could have been no doubt as to the direction of the stranger’s voice, the man made no acknowledgement that he had heard him. Indeed instead of looking at the stranger he turned his gaze to a quaint packhorse bridge the stranger had crossed only a few short minutes before.

“Hallo!” the stranger called again, waving an arm in friendly greeting. Gratified to see the man turn his gaze toward him and the stranger continued, “If I may speak with you a moment…”

There was a substantial pause before the man gave a nod of assent. Now that his attention was caught he unblinkingly watched the stranger’s approach with wariness, as if he expected something to happen but was not quite sure what. The man’s arms were protectively wrapped about himself when the stranger reached him. 

“This is your house,” the stranger asked conversationally.

“Don’t you know that it is?” 

The man’s voice was so low and tentative that the stranger was not sure he had heard correctly. This man is afraid of me, the stranger thought. Whatever for?

“You will excuse me, friend,” the stranger said, “but you look as if you dreaded me.”

“I…I thought I had seen you before.”

“It is possible,” the stranger acknowledged. “Perhaps in York?”

Receiving no response the stranger remembered how the man had looked at the packhorse bridge.

“Where did you think you saw me?”

The man reluctantly gestured toward the bridge.

“I have not been in this part of county before. Though I did cross the bridge on my journey here you have my word this was my first time upon it.”

The man considered this a moment before nodding slowly. The corners of his mouth turned ever so slightly into the resemblance of a smile. This small reassurance from the stranger appeared to have settled some point of uneasiness for the man responded more readily as the two exchanged polite words about the country and the village of Starecross. 

“The village is not far,” asked the stranger, a Mr. Honeyfoot from York. “I am afraid I have underestimated the distance.”

“Not above two miles but you must trek back to the crossroad,” answered Mr. Segundus, the administrator of the great home, Starecross Hall, beside which they now stood. 

“I wish I could offer you the use of a carriage but I am afraid we do not have one.” This seemed to cause Mr. Segundus some embarrassment and he began to unconsciously pull at his coat sleeves, which Mr. Honeyfoot noticed were neatly kept but frayed and too short. 

“Will you rest a while and take some refreshment?

During their conversation, Mr. Segundus had begged pardon for his odd behavior and now seemed determined to make amends by being as polite and amiable as possible. Though two miles was no great distance he had noticed Mr. Honeyfoot’s flushed face and tired aspect and could not in good conscious let him continue on without adequate rest. Truly, his only regret was that he could not offer more and that he had kept Mr. Honeyfoot standing outside far longer than was polite.

They would have entered without further ado but one point of uneasiness lay in Mr. Segundus’ mind and this he quickly related. Would Mr. Honeyfoot have any misgivings about entering Starecross Hall, which Mr. Segundus explained was a home and safe haven for the mad? Rather than appearing bothered by this news Mr. Honeyfoot explained that he had once been a theoretical magician and the topic was of some interest to him, there being a connection between madness and the Aureate magicians of old. Mr. Segundus was pleasantly surprised by this unexpected answer but seemed distracted and as they entered the Hall he ventured a look back toward the bridge before closing the door.

***

Entering Starecross Hall was like stepping back in time. Nothing about the dark oak paneling or stone floors reflected modern tastes and there was something of a settled gloom in the air, as one sometimes finds in old houses. 

“There is something scholarly in the atmosphere here,” Mr. Honeyfoot mused aloud as Mr. Segundus led them into a room that, while similarly archaic, had a warm and welcoming fire to dispel the gloom. It was a room to Mr. Honeyfoot’s own tastes and he soon seated himself in the chair his host had indicated near the fire. 

“The silence lends itself well to it, yes. Though it can be lonely I have my routines. I have been working on a biography of ___ and do not notice most of the time.”

“Do your charges not require much of your time,” Mr. Honeyfoot asked with some curiosity. That anyone in the position of keeping a madhouse would have the time or energy for such an extensive project as a biography of ___ did not entirely fit his conceptions of what the job entailed. 

At once Mr. Segundus’ forehead creased and his uneasiness returned.

“No, not now.”

Mr. Honeyfoot would have liked to inquire further but, noting his host’s uneasiness, had no desire to press him further and cause additional distress. Whatever was in Mr. Segundus’ mind troubled him greatly and it was impossible not to notice how his hands shook as he served their tea. Hoping conversation on a more comfortable topic might be the remedy, Mr. Honeyfoot turned their talk to their mutual interest in magic and the two spoke for some time on the subject. Though Mr. Segundus insisted he was a theoretical magician of the poorest kind, a man with a great interest but access to too few books, Mr. Honeyfoot was impressed by his knowledge.

“I once thought to start a school for magicians but it came to nothing. In another life though I believe I would have liked to have made magic my life’s work.”

“So you have, Mr. Segundus! The Aureates claimed there is a connection between magic and madness. What better opportunity to study and apply than here at Starecross Hall!”

“I am not so fortunate as you suppose,” Mr. Segundus said, casting his eyes toward two bells that hung from a bracket on the wall near Mr. Honeyfoot. They appeared decorative; something a traveler to the continent might have chosen for a gift decades earlier but had no real, practical purpose. No mallet stood nearby nor string to pull and Mr. Honeyfoot doubted they had rung in a very long time.

“My life has been troubled since coming here.” 

As soon as the words were said, Mr. Segundus appeared to regret them, immediately shifting his gaze to the untouched teacup in his own hand.

Mr. Honeyfoot was not one to force a confidence but could he not offer some word or two of support?

“I have no wish to press you. If sharing these troubles may be of some comfort to you though, sir, you have a sympathetic listener and my discretion.”  


The offer lingered in the air for some minutes before Mr. Segundus released a sigh and nodded gently.

“It is difficult to explain but I will try…though you may think me mad in the end,” he said, adding the latter in an undertone.

Mr. Honeyfoot set his tea down and gave his host his entire attention.


	2. Chapter 2

“When I first saw you upon the road I said I thought I had seen you before. I see now that I was wrong. While I have never seen the man’s face clearly I do see there are differences in your persons...but I am getting ahead of myself.”

“I took over the management of Starecross Hall in 18__. The work has never troubled me and I am glad to offer a comfortable home to those suffering the effects of what the world often terms madness.”

The word seemed to be one that he did not like to use and, indeed, Mr. Honeyfoot gathered from their earlier conversation that Mr. Segundus was of the opinion that madness might be a host of different afflictions, perhaps simply different ways of seeing the world around them.

“Almost a year after I came to Starecross I was walking in the gardens. It was a warm and hazy summer day and we had opened the windows hoping for a breeze that wasn’t there. When I heard the low, sorrowful chiming of a bell I was surprised. It was not one of those we used in the house and the very sound of it sent a tremor through my body. I cannot explain it better than saying it brought to mind the saddest days in my life, Mr. Honeyfoot. Thinking it might be distressing to the others, I went in search of the sound and the person making it and looking through the window behind you I spotted those bells.” Here Mr. Segundus looked to bells that Mr. Honeyfoot had seen him considering earlier.

“You had the breeze you were hoping for,” said Mr. Honeyfoot.

“Perhaps but you must understand that these bells have no clappers. I later asked the owner of the house and she tells me that if they ever had them it was not in her generation. I did not know this at the time but only wished to stop the bells. I got as far as the front of the house I saw him. He was waving his arm most empathically and calling as you did, ‘Hallo there!’ As I said, the bells had put me in a sorrowful mindset and I felt that he must surely need help. Rushing to the spot however I soon discovered no one was there. No one in the house had heard either the call or the bells so I dropped the matter and thought that perhaps I had been at my studies too long and was imaging things.”

Mr. Honeyfoot offered a small anecdote about the strange things he sometimes imagined on nights when he combined a heavy meal with reading about the early recorded magic of the Raven King but this did little to sooth Mr. Segundus, who shook his head indicating it was not the same thing.

“This was hours before the greatest disaster that has occurred in Starecross, Mr. Honeyfoot. You may have heard of it in York, how a stagecoach traveling in a dense fog mistook the way, crashing on the bridge. It occurred exactly where the figure had stood!” 

“Never have I seen anything more horrible as the things I saw that night! People cast into the swift current of the river; the agonized screaming of horses. Six died that night and several more were injured. The injured and the dead were laid out in the Hall until their families came for them.”

Mr. Honeyfoot shivered but fought against it as best he could. Coincidences indeed, he argued, but the events were unlikely to be connected.

“I thought so at the time,” Mr. Segundus conceded, “but I must beg your patience for there is more.”

“Six months had passed since that day, enough time that things had settled back into routine and the incident was not foremost in my mind. Six months and I saw the figure again.”

“He called out to you? From the same spot,” Mr. Honeyfoot asked.

“No, he did not cry out nor raise his arm. No it…” Mr. Segundus bit his lip, suppressing whatever strong emotion he felt until he could go on in an even manner.

“No, his hands were raised to cover his face. It was the same posture I had seen on the faces of those families who had come to claim their deceased loved-ones that day six months before.”

“I did not rush out to meet the figure this time but immediately went inside. That is when I heard the bells. The remembrance of all that had happened before was enough to turn my stomach and when I had gathered strength enough to venture a look at the bells they were no longer ringing and the figure outside was gone.”

“Surely nothing came of this,” Mr. Honeyfoot said in a tone that vainly tried to conceal his trepidation.

“At the time a lady was under my care. She often became distressed by a malady that prevented her from speaking her thoughts coherently and her husband hoped she might find comfort in a peaceful life at Starecross. Indeed, the quiet of the Hall seemed to sooth her and with time she was troubled by less and less of these episodes. I believed her to be on the mend until she stole out one night. It was a time in the day when her absence was not immediately noticed and when we found her she was rambling near the bridge in a fever.”

“With time the fever left but she has lain in unconsciousness from the hour she was placed in her bed. Her husband has sent the best doctors but nothing can be done. Even with the aid of a capable doctor her husband has paid to live in residence with us she grows weaker by the day and I fear that she may not be long with us.” 

“I cannot deny that I fear there is a connection between what I’ve seen and heard and these tragic events. It seems too regular a pattern for chance. Yet if I do not know what terrible thing is to happen or how I am to stop it, what can I do? Why send these signs if I can do nothing?” 

Mr. Segundus shoulders slumped reflecting the helplessness he felt so keenly. “I have heard the bells again this week, Mr. Honeyfoot. If something is coming I do not know how to prevent it.”

What reassurance could be offered Mr. Honeyfoot provided and when he had concluded he offered his company until the rest of the Hall’s staff returned later that evening.  


“I thank you but you have business and I would not trouble you. If you have time to visit again before you leave I would be gratified to talk with you again. It is not often I have the chance to speak with another magician except through correspondence.”

Although reluctant to leave Mr. Segundus alone, Mr. Honeyfoot agreed to visit him the following day. The two men took their leave of each other amiably and as Mr. Segundus watched Mr. Honeyfoot walk in the direction of the village he made an effort not to glance back at the packhorse bridge.

***

Mr. Segundus awoke to the sound of bells. As his eyes tiredly opened he wondered if it was a dream but this thought was soon dispelled by the continued, distinct ringing that had awoken him. There was no doubt where the sound was coming from. These bells had never sounded like servants’ bells and he felt the familiar feeling of foreboding return. Rising from his bed, Mr. Segundus hurriedly lit the candle on the bedside table and carried it into the hall and out the front door. The moon was not bright tonight but did not stop him from looking at the bridge.

Hours earlier he had told Mr. Honeyfoot that his inability to prevent the terrible situations he was warned about troubled him beyond measure. Maybe if he was there at the right time he might know what to do though.

Heedless of his state of undress and disregarding the sharp cut of the uneven road on his bare feet, Mr. Segundus ran toward the bridge; a ghostly white figure traversing the dark.

“Why are you doing this? What do you want me to do,” he called into the darkness, his body thrumming with adrenaline and fear. 

A single lantern made its eerie journey over the bridge but by the time Mr. Segundus’ mind registered what his eyes were seeing it was too late; the horseman did not see him and he was traveling too fast. Mr. Segundus’ last thought as he braced himself for the inevitable was that he had failed to stop any of it from happening and that it would happen again.


	3. Chapter 3

Mr. Honeyfoot returned to Starecross Hall in the afternoon.  Mr. Segundus’ story had been on his mind since the night before and, as he knocked upon the door, he tried to ignore the uneasiness that had taken root in his heart.  He had liked the man and his distress the evening before had made Mr. Honeyfoot reluctant to leave.  As soon as he could properly do so, he had returned to inquire after his new friend.

It was some time before the door was answered by a harried-looking maid.

“Can I help you, sir?”  The girl made no effort to invite Mr. Honeyfoot in but her tone was neither curt nor rude.

“I have an appointment with Mr. Segundus.”

“Mr. Segundus is abed, sir, and not taking visitors,” she explained after a moment’s pause.

Before he could inquire after Mr. Segundus’ health a weak voice spoke from within.

“Please invite Mr. Honeyfoot in, Mary.”

Mary frowned but opened the door to Mr. Honeyfoot and led him into the parlor he had been in the night before.  A moment later Mr. Segundus entered.  As Mary set a newly poured glass of water on an end table she looked as if she wished to say something but, seeming to think better of it, left the room as Mr. Segundus took a seat by the fire.

“Please excuse us.  I was told to rest but it is the last thing I am able to do.  Please,” Mr. Segundus said, gesturing faintly to the chair near Mr. Honeyfoot.

“Has something happened,” Honeyfoot asked with real concern as he seated himself.  Indeed, Mr. Segundus looked as if he had walked the roads of hell since the previous night.  “Please tell me what I can do to help.”

Mr. Segundus rubbed his eyes and looked ready to crumble.

“They think me mad,” Segundus finally said.  “Maybe I am.  The bells rang again last night and I returned to the bridge.  If something terrible was to happen when I knew…”  Mr. Segundus shook his head as if to shake loose whatever fears had taken residence there. 

“You did as any gentleman would,” Honeyfoot assured, for he was certain these were the actions of a man who had followed his conscience whatever ill had befallen him after.

“What I thought I saw coming toward me over the bridge I do not know even now but I could not move.  I would have been trampled by the horseman if I had not pulled out of the way by one of the villagers.”

Segundus buried his head in his hands, the image of a man in utter despair.

Rising, Mr. Honeyfoot retrieved the glass of water and, patting Mr. Segundus gently on the shoulder, handed it to him. 

“You have had a terrible fright and done better than most of us.  I will not hear otherwise,” he insisted before Mr. Segundus had the least chance to protest, which he had neither the energy nor will to do.  “They have not seen or heard what you have and cannot know what has happened. You need not endure this alone any longer, Mr. Segundus.  We will discover the truth of these visions together.”

It is telling when a man who never wishes to inconvenience anyone puts up no argument to an offer that is clearly an inconvenience and Mr. Segundus made no argument as he raised his head from his hands to look into the kind, determined face of Mr. Honeyfoot and said, “Thank you.”

 

***

 

It was as if all established roles in Starecross Hall had changed since the previous night: the keeper had become the patient and the staff treated him as such.  While no better remedy could be recommended than sleep, Mr. Segundus desired to speak with Mr. Honeyfoot and at an antique dining room table with bowls of soup before them, the two men sat in discussion over the strange events that had led to the night before.  It was only natural that conversation turned to the history of the bells.

 

“I am afraid I know little more than you,” Mr. Segundus admitted.  “I am the keeper of the Hall but Starecross belongs to a Mrs. Lennox.  She visited the house regularly as a child and grew to love it and when she had the chance to purchase it she did.  When I met her she told me she wished to sell for it was too far from her residence in Bath and she had no use for the house.  We came upon a business arrangement but she never spoke of anything strange occurring here.  In fact she believed it the perfect place for an establishment like this for she had always found the Hall and the village peaceful places.”

“She knows nothing of what has been happening then?”

“No,” Segundus admitted sheepishly.  “I do not know what care our residents would receive if I were replaced or they were sent elsewhere and I had harbored a hope that this was all a strange coincidence…until I heard the bells a third time.”

“Of course.”

“I did ask after the bells though.  They had caught my attention on one of my early visits and I wondered at their design.  Mrs. Lennox told me they had been there as long as she could remember and thought that they may have come from the continent.  There was no reason to remove them when the Hall was being refurnished and I dare not remove them now.”

The two men talked some minutes more and when Mr. Segundus began to show signs of increasing fatigue, Mr. Honeyfoot took his leave with promises of returning the following day once Mr. Segundus had rested.

***

 

The road into the village of Starecross should have felt shorter after a night’s rest but Mr. Honeyfoot found himself feeling, as he had the day before, that it was greater a distance. 

_Such an isolated house_ , Mr. Honeyfoot mused.  _The village may know something of it though.  It is a prominent building and its purpose must be some topic of conversation._  

It was with this object in mind that he walked into the tavern where he had rented a room and ordered a pint from the purveyor, Mr. Bielby, who inquired as to the successful completion of his business.

“Thank you.  Yes, some of it.”  That Mr. Honeyfoot had completed the business which had originally brought him to Starecross and undertaken a new business entirely he did not explain.  “I would like to engage the room for a few more days though if it is not too great a trouble.”

“No trouble,” answered the purveyor as he placed a pint of ale before Mr. Honeyfoot.  “You are welcome to it.”

Visitors to Starecross being rare, a little extra income was not ungratefully accepted, and Mr. Honeyfoot had proved himself to be a genial man.  Mrs. Bielby and the girls had enjoyed his conversation the night before and immediately declared him a good sort.

Mr. Honeyfoot took a few sips from his glass before getting to the subject most on his mind.

“There is a great stone house that caught my interest yesterday.”

“You’ll be meaning Starecross Hall.”

“Indeed!  What a stately home.  There are several such places in York with fascinating stories behind their building,” said Mr. Honeyfoot with unfeigned enthusiasm.

Mr. Bielby shook his head.  “Perhaps in York but the Hall has none that would be of much interest to yourself, Mr. Honeyfoot.  A family bought the land back in my father's time and built the Hall on it.  It’s not the kind of building any practical sort around here would build, I will tell you that.  All those rooms.  The work to heat them… Too big to be of any use.” 

“They were from not Starecross then?”

“No,” the barkeeper replied vaguely.

“It’s beautifully situated but quite sequestered.  I imagine Starecross must have its share of tales.”

Mr. Bielby had now taken a sudden and vigorous interest in washing the bar.

“Couldn’t say that I have heard any.  Thomas Longfellow,” Mr. Bielby called to a man seated by a warm stone fireplace.  “You heard any odd tales about the Hall?”

The mood in the room noticeably changed.  It felt not unlike a door being closed in one’s face on a cold winter’s night just as one caught a glimpse of a warm fire within.  Mr. Honeyfoot saw the answer to this question in the faces of each man in the room and knew that he would get no answers here.

“The Hall?  Can’t say I have.”

Negatives arose around the room and conversation soon turned to another topic.  Sensing the change in atmosphere his statement had produced, Mr. Honeyfoot did not press further and for several minutes more he spoke to Mr. Bielby on other, more pleasant topics before retiring for the evening. 

As he went about his evening rituals he thought over the developments of the evening.  Though he had no wish to cultivate ill-will or distrust between himself and the inhabitants of Starecross he had left that cheerful room knowing, if nothing else, that he had touched upon an unpleasant topic.  As painful as it was for a man of Honeyfoot’s character to be disagreeable, the greater concern in his mind was for new friend.  But how to proceed? 

As Mr. Honeyfoot lay his wisened head upon his pillow that night it was with the fear that he had somehow let Mr. Segundus down.


	4. Chapter 4

Mr. Segundus was more composed when Mr. Honeyfoot stepped into the drawing room of Starecross Hall the next morning. Indeed he had slept through the night and woken with a purpose, which he soon shared with Mr. Honeyfoot.

“I have given some thought to our discussion of magic. If we cannot uncover the source of these sounds and visions by any standard means, might magic not be an aid?”

“A spell to see the real face of something,” Mr. Honeyfoot mused. “An incantation for protection perhaps? It is a capital idea, Mr. Segundus. If such things can be achieved by Mr. Strange and Mr. Norrell we would be no worse for trying ourselves. At best we find our answer, at worst we look foolish amongst friends.”

For the first time in their acquaintance, there was a spark of excitement in Mr. Segundus’ eye.

***

A resounding crash echoed through the halls of Starecross sending Mary running to investigate. It did not take long to discover the source.

“Mr. Segundus,” she exclaimed in exasperation as she ran into the room and rushed to open a window. The smoke in the room was stifling.

Both men had the good sense look ashamed and Mr. Segundus face flushed in embarrassment. 

“Your need to know everything,” Mary said in a choked voice as she waved her arms dramatically in an attempt to force a breeze to clear the air. Her brown eyes were filled with tears, though whether from smoke or concern mattered little --- the gentleman had been the cause.

A man in his later years now entered the room, hat in hand. “Begging your pardon,” he said to the gentlemen. “Mary!” Rushing to the girl’s side he placed his firm hands upon her arms. “My child! What has happened?”\

“I’ve held my tongue long enough,” Mary exclaimed with a firmness unaffected by tears. “If you will not tell him I will. On mother’s grave I will!”

Her father was taken aback. His daughter had sent word to him to come to the Hall but he had not expected to find the place in such a state nor to find his hand forced. He opened his mouth to protest but quickly closed it and returned a resigned nod instead. 

Wordlessly Mary left the room and journeyed to the kitchen followed by her father and, after a questioning look at each other, by Honeyfoot and Segundus. Once the men were seated about the sturdy kitchen table, Mary put a kettle on and her father began his tale…

“They say this gentleman…” Here the father directed his gaze at Mr. Honeyfoot. “Asked after the history of the house. Bielby gave you a true story. I’ll not having you thinking it was a false one.”

Mr. Honeyfoot opened his mouth to insist he had thought no such thing but the man silenced him with a wave of a hand.

“No, not a false one but there is more to it. It is not something anyone wished to be widely known and I would ask on your honor as gentleman not to let it leave this room.”

Both men looked visibly uncomfortable but it was Mr. Segundus who spoke first.

“I can give no such promise until I know that keeping it will cause no harm to anyone.” In Mr. Segundus’ mind enough harm had been caused to warrant caution. He was a man of his word and too many had been harmed by the events at Starecross Hall.

Mary turned from the fire and looked back at Mr. Segundus sharply but in an instant her expression softened.

“You must hear this story, Mr. Segundus, if you will stay in the Hall. Any harm would come in the telling of this story outside this room. You can form your own opinion once you have heard all but I, for one, will not hold you to this promise.”

With some reluctance her father nodded his acceptance, for he trusted his daughter’s judgment and, after a moment’s consideration, Mr. Segundus and Mr. Honeyfoot did the same.

“As Bielby said, a family came to Starecross from London in our fathers’ time. The wife was sickly and a quiet country life they thought would give her some ease. So they built the Hall and with little regard to Starecross, I might add, for it was larger than any other house for miles and impractically designed.”

“Now this pair had a daughter, an only child and I daresay a lonely one. Much attention went to the care of her mother and you would often see the little girl in the garden playing alone, for she was to be a finely brought up lady and they had no wish for her to mix with us villagers. Sometimes she would escape the grasp of her governess to play a game or two but these pieces of freedom were uncommon.”

“Eventually she was sent to a school and returned some years later a grown woman. Everyone half-expected her to be married by that time but the fact that she was no longer a child went unnoticed at the Hall.”

“It was no wonder that she took her freedom in hand. I believe things would have taken a different turn if the girl’s mother had not died when she did for you see the girl…well, she got herself with child by one of the local boys and they wished to be married.”

Had Mary’s father looked at Misters Honeyfoot and Segundus he would have seen two chastened men ashamed at having provoked this confidence, but he was too busy looking at the rough surface of the wooden table before him to notice.

“The loss of a loved one can make you hold tighter to what’s left and that is what happened. I do not pretend to know what was said between them but the answer was clear enough: no daughter of his would marry a village boy. The lovers were separated and the daughter was confined to the house and eventually bore a child, losing her life in the process.”

Mary’s father shook his head. Mr. Segundus thought he heard him mummer, “Not one moment of happiness had that girl,” but he resumed his story forthwith. 

“The boy had loved that girl and pleaded with her father to release his child to him but his plea fell on deaf ears. Perhaps he could see no further than his own pain or he wished to do right by this small child but he would not concede.”

“What was the boy to do? His family begged him to let it be, telling him the child would have a better chance in the world with the patronage of a wealthy grandfather. The boy would not be swayed however and in desperation stole into the Hall one foggy night and took his child. Someone must have heard him for the house was roused and gave chase.”

“You have seen the fog settle about the river, Mr. Segundus.” Mr. Segundus, surprised to be called out, nodded. “It was thick. I think the boy climbed down the bank believing he would find shelter beneath the bridge and miscalculated. That the child did not fall into the river with the father is a wonder but the boy was found on the bank downstream, having drown in the fast current. The waling of the child led the residents of the Hall to her and next morning grandfather and child left Starecross.”

Silence filled the kitchen for several minutes after the sorry tale was told. 

It was Mr. Segundus who eventually broke the silence.

“I am most sorry my actions have forced this confidence. Of course I will say nothing.”

Mr. Honeyfoot expressed similar sorrow at hearing the tale of the two lovers and promised to keep the confidence as well.

“You are so set on finding fairies and phantoms, Mr. Segundus, that you fail to see what’s before you,” chided Mary. “You could have been killed last night. I cannot imagine what you were thinking.”

***

Mr. Honeyfoot and Mr. Segundus sat at the table long after Mary and her father had left. There was much to consider in the story they had been told and how it connected to the strange visions and sounds Mr. Segundus had experienced.

“I had thought that you might have been witnessing the work of fairies,” Honeyfoot confessed. “Or even that you were seeing glimpses of future events but I think I had it backwards.”

“Phantoms of the past,” concluded Mr. Segundus. “The man calling up to the Hall, shielding his eyes once he found the man or the child.”

Mr. Honeyfoot nodded.

“It was all a coincidence then.”

The two men sat in silence for some minutes more.

“You may be more in tune to these things,” Mr. Honeyfoot finally said. “My great-aunt used to sometimes see the armies of William the Conqueror in the streets though no one else ever saw them.”

“I am simply content to know that I am not mad,” said Mr. Segundus. “It may seem a small thing but it is enough for me, I think.”


	5. Epilogue

Misters Honeyfoot and Segundus kept in touch in the years that followed, building a lifelong friendship.

Mr. Segundus did hear the bells again but no longer feared them. No further notable events occurred after their ringing and he learned to avoid the packhorse bridge when he heard them.

Mr. Segundus stayed in Starecross Hall until the miraculous return to health of the unconscious female resident in his care. Misters Strange and Norrell by this time had left England and Segundus finally learned the truth behind her ailment.

It was a new age for magic. Ever eager to learn and share his knowledge, Mr. Segundus returned to Starecross Hall after a brief sabbatical spent building his knowledge and skills in practical magic and turned Starecross into the school of magic he had always wished for with the support of Mrs. Lennox and his friend, Mr. Honeyfoot.

Today, Starecross Hall is still noted in the history books for being one of the first schools of magic to be founded after the return of English magic. If you visit today and have a mind finally tuned you may hear the ringing of bells echoing through its halls.


End file.
